


The Spectre Came After The Feast

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fix-It, M/M, Mycroft Is Not A Softie, Not Canon Compliant With His Last Vow - Won't Happen With This Mycroft, Post-Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Season Four Won't Happen Either Obviously - He Would Have Just Crushed Eurus, Sibling Incest, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26372791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Sherlock has just left the festivities after John and Mary's wedding. He had asked Mycroft to come earlier in the day. And big brother has, after all, made the effort.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 19
Kudos: 107





	The Spectre Came After The Feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).



> Don't worry - I'm not going to post a story every day now. I just had some days off and lots of time. This will be the last one for now, except for my WIPs.
> 
> The title is a nod at what Sherlock tells Mycroft in the episode, when he asks him to come along.

“ _I’m not a child any more, Mycroft.”_

“ _No, of course you’re not. Enjoy not getting involved, Sherlock.”_

_°°°_

“You’re leaving early, brother mine.”

Sherlock whirls around, seeing the tall figure of his brother stepping out of the darkness. “Damn. Did you want to give me a heart attack? What are you doing here?”

“You asked me to come.”

“Well, I must have been out of my mind. And you said you wouldn’t.”

Mycroft nods. “I didn’t, really. The wedding’s over after all.” He has made an effort. Dressed up in a slim black suit. His favourites these days. Gone are the baggy trousers. He can afford it. He is slimmer than ever.

Not that Sherlock is staring at him. He has taken his appearance in with a quick glance. “Using the treadmill has paid out,” he quips, before he blushes at the compliment he has just made without any reason whatsoever. Damn…

At least his brother can’t see his red cheeks in the dim light. The building behind Sherlock is lit of course but he has made a few steps away already.

Mycroft looks at him inquiringly, slightly tilting his head. He has not missed the genuineness of Sherlock's words. And of course he can also see his embarrassment.

Sherlock curses himself for slipping like this. But this day has taken its toll. “Go on. Start already.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ah, don’t play coy with me. I know you want to lord it over me. My involvement. My sentiment. All those ghastly things. Tell me I’m an idiot.” His tone is bitter. God. His reactions are unpredictable tonight… They were both right – Mycroft, Mrs Hudson… It has hurt to lose John. And he has. Fine, John will probably join him in working on cases for another while. But when the baby is there?

“Love hurts, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s voice is quiet. “I told you many times.”

“Yes, yes. Caring is not an advantage.” Sherlock shakes his head. “And it’s not like you’re implying. I’m not in love with John.” But still the doctor had been an integral part of his life for years. Then he had to go undercover, had to die, in front of John above all. Stupidly, he had expected to just pick up where he had left everything when he came back. It didn’t work like that. Not at all. And now John is about to start a family with the woman he is married to, and he, Sherlock, will be all alone again, just like he had been before John.

“Getting older means losing, Sherlock.”

 _Older? Thanks very much…_ “Losing what?” Why does he even ask?

“Friends. Illusions. Hope. Everything is in permanent change and rarely ever for the better.”

“Very cheerful,” he quips even though he is well aware that his brother is right. When have the changes in his life _ever_ been for the better? “And don’t patronise me, Mycroft. I’m not an idiot! Nor a goldfish, as you like to put it.”

Mycroft nods. “I know. You’re my brother. Which means you must be very smart. I never thought you were an idiot.”

Sherlock feels weird. Mycroft's voice is so… different. Pensive. Silky, even. No, no. This is dangerous territory. He has to view Mycroft as his older brother only. When he allows himself to see the _man_ , he will start saying even more embarrassing things than he already has. To even call Mycroft and beg him to come to the wedding! What has he been thinking? He’s getting weak. A whiner. He can as well become a monk…

Mycroft straightens his tie. “You just have to realise that your… sentiment… is not to be wasted on undeserving people. Like this woman in there, the one John has just married.”

Sherlock stares at him. “What do you mean?”

Mycroft steps closer to him. “How many of the guests in there have come on _her_ behalf?”

“Well… Not many.”

“Hm. None of her family, right?”

“She’s an _orphan_ , Mycroft.”

“Oh is she…”

Sherlock feels his pulse speed up. What kind of game is his brother playing here? “What do you know about her?”

“Everything. I pride myself in knowing everything about the people who come into your life. Don’t you know that?” Mycroft’s face is unmoved but his bright eyes are not as cold as Sherlock has seen them too often in his life.

“ _What do you know?”_

Mycroft nods. “She is a former assassin. She worked as a freelancer, sometimes for the Secret Service.”

Sherlock is speechless. “That means for _you_ ,” he mumbles, hardly knowing what he is saying. How has he missed this?

“Well. Not directly, of course. I had never met her. She is an American. Assassinated about eighty people. And a lot of people want her head on a platter.”

“God… Why haven’t you told me before?! How _could_ you let John marry her?! Damn, she is even pregnant from him now!”

Mycroft bites his lip and shrugs, which is a gesture Sherlock can’t remember having seen from him before. “Well. You can do with this knowledge as you wish.”

“That’s it?! What is she planning? Why did she marry him?”

“Well, surprisingly enough, she seems to… love him. Craves a new life. A normal life. She is not going to harm him.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

Mycroft shakes his head. “No. I can’t. That’s quite right. But what I _do_ know is that someday, someone will come for her. So stay out of this. Don’t get involved with them any further. It will do you no good.”

Sherlock throws his hands in the air and huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “And how, pray tell, should I explain that to John? Mary and I get along well. And suddenly I will be avoiding her?” He just can’t tell John about her… It will destroy him and he will probably hate him for it, as irrational as this would be, but hurt people seldom react rationally… John had shown that very clearly when Sherlock had come back from the dead...

“Tell him you’re jealous,” Mycroft answers coolly. “Tell them you only realised tonight that you are… affected by their happiness, which excludes you, naturally.”

“Well, they will only increase their efforts to _in_ clude me then.”

“Ah. You’re smart. You’re going to find a way. Or of course, if you prefer, tell him the truth about her. And if he doesn’t believe it, send him to me. I have a thick folder with information about her. Her name is not Mary Morstan by the way but I’m sure you’d figured out as much.”

Sherlock feels like having been hit between the eyes. This is just… awful… And he has still not heard an explanation why Mycroft has not shared his knowledge before John made this commitment.

And then the realisation hits him like a brick. Can that be? He gazes at his brother, and now it is Mycroft's turn to blush as he immediately deduces Sherlock's thoughts.

Sherlock gapes at him, feeling as if his world had been turned upside down for the second time within less than five minutes.

“Well, I think I should leave you now.”

Nice try… Mycroft has just sounded completely casual but even if Sherlock had missed his reaction to his deduction, Mycroft would have given himself away now. Because if Sherlock had been wrong, Mycroft would have offered him a lift home. Under what passed as ‘normal circumstances’ for them, he would never leave him on his own after having bothered to come here, lurking in the darkness until Sherlock came out – and God does his brother know him well to be sure that he would leave early and alone. Mycroft has to take into consideration that this could be a danger night, especially after what he has just told him, and he would never leave him alone if he had the chance to look after him.

But he just did try to escape, and there could only be one reason for it...

“No, Mycroft. I don’t think you should,” he says, and Mycroft, who had already turned away, stops.

“You do think so,” he says, standing with his back to Sherlock.

“I do indeed. I have a deduction for you: you didn't tell me about Mary, whatever her real name is, before because you wanted to have John out of the way. You thought I was in love with him, and you feared that if his relationship with her failed, he would come back. You saw him mourn me for more than a year before she showed up. You thought he would realise whom he really wants.”

Mycroft has still not turned around. “Well, perhaps I just wanted to keep you from making a mistake. This man… He doesn’t deserve you.” His voice indicates that he might also know a few things about _John’s_ past that would explain why he has never liked Sherlock's now ex-flatmate.

Sherlock knows very well that John has never wanted him that way, and vice versa. Even if Mary disappeared from the scene, John would maybe move back into 221B, but certainly not as Sherlock's future lover. And whatever John has done in the past, Sherlock doesn’t bother. He knows he can trust him and that John, who has saved him more than once, will go through the fire for him.

But this is completely unimportant now of course. What _is_ important is that Mycroft is not even telling him half the story. “Well, perhaps not. Perhaps you had another reason. Perhaps you were just… jealous.”

“Why would I be jealous?” Mycroft still doesn’t look at him.

Sherlock can’t really believe that they are having this conversation.

He thinks of his fifteen-year-old self, sulking and agitated because of an argument with his mother, ripping the door open to storm outside – crushing into a tall, handsome man he only recognised as the brother he hadn’t seen in three years when Mycroft had greeted him after he had been gaping at him in awe.

It hadn’t made their already fractured relationship any better – wanting his big brother, hiding this desire by being absolutely awful to him. He had mocked him, rejected him – everything to not let him know what he was really feeling about him.

And now he has to realise that he has been a complete idiot all this time to miss that his feeling have been recipocrated. But so has Mycroft, of course… They have both missed all the clues, inexperienced with sentiment as they are. And now they have the chance, the only chance, to make it right.

“You’re jealous because you want me,” he says plainly.

Mycroft’s shoulders slump. “Do I now…”

“Turn around.”

He can see Mycroft take a deep breath before he does turn. His eyes are troubled. But also… hopeful?

Sherlock closes the distance between them with two long steps. He wraps his arms around his brother’s neck. He knows this is dangerous. Someone can come out of the house any time. But it’s now or never.

And so he kisses his brother.

*****

Mycroft is torn between feeling overjoyed and stunned at finally getting what he has wanted for so long – and feeling the urge to hit himself for missing this for how _he-doesn’t-even-_ _ **want**_ _-to-know_ long.

He had only indulged in this first, mind-blowing kiss for a couple of seconds before his brain had taken over again, and he had pulled away, debauching in the disappointed look Sherlock had given him for a moment before he had told him to follow him, “ _and no touching now.”_

His driver, Tony, had been waiting for him at the parking lot, and they had slipped onto the back seat, and Mycroft had, after asking Sherlock silently with his eyes, receiving the enthusiastic nod he had desired, told the man to drive them to his house. He had activated the privacy screen – it was better to be safe than sorry even though Tony had witnessed all kinds of actions in this car already over the years and knew exactly what to do with his knowledge, namely keeping it to himself – and had cupped Sherlock's face with both hands and kissed him again, and they had been spending all the ride with snogging each other dizzy.

And now they are facing each other in his bedroom, clothes having all but melted from their bodies, their eyes taking each other in, and they both like what they see.

Mycroft will not waste any more time than he’d already done over the past nearly two decades with _‘are you sure?’_ and _‘isn’t it too soon for physical intimacy?’_ Mycroft might have been a complete and utter fool to miss Sherlock's feelings for him (and Sherlock's behaviour towards him after reaching a certain age suddenly makes so much more sense) and he will not forgive himself for that so soon but he doesn’t believe in pointless shyness and _‘what if anyone finds out?’_ and prissy hesitation when it’s clear that they are on the same page and Sherlock wants this just as badly as he does.

He had tested him earlier – pretending to be about to walk away. Played hard to get and embarrassed. Well, of course he had been embarrassed – by his own slipping. But after the initial surprise, almost shock, the utterly unexpected developments of this evening had only been thrilling him. He had kept his cards close to his chest in this moment, passing the ball to baby brother just to be sure, very hopeful that Sherlock would pick it up and play it back, and he had, and here they are.

While their lips crash in another frantic, needy kiss – and as cool and neat and impeccable as he is, the attraction of the shameless messiness of sexual encounters is not lost on him – he thinks that if anybody does indeed figure it out, which he doubts very much, they will be dealt with accordingly, no matter who they are. Now that he has Sherlock, he does not plan to let him go again – unless Sherlock wants it, of course, but he has the strong feeling that this won’t be the case. This is no passing whim. Sherlock is making clear with every look, every touch and especially every kiss that he is very serious about this.

Mycroft mouths at his brother’s long throat after having him manoeuvred onto the bed, and is rewarded by a low moan. _Ah. Responsive, this detective._ His deft fingers tweak his brother’s small nipples, and Sherlock takes in a sharp breath, his little buds going stiff between Mycroft's digits. Mycroft licks the rosy pearls, suckles them, one after the other, while his hands find Sherlock's arse. And what an arse it is… Thank God John is so oblivious – otherwise he would have perhaps caught Mycroft looking at these plush globes in Buckingham Palace…

Which naturally brings him to Irene… Mycroft knows Sherlock had saved her in the end. He had pretended to not know about it when he had spoken to John, trying to figure out what exactly the doctor is for Sherlock during this conversation about Sherlock's possible feelings for this whore – with little success. John might be an oblivious goldfish most of the time, but he can pull off a decent poker face at other times.

Anyway… Irene. What had she been to Sherlock?

Mycroft had been half-crazed with jealousy (and anger) when Sherlock had betrayed the country for her. And when he had found out that she had not really died for the second time, he had smashed his fist against the wall. He should have taken her out immediately after she had started her blackmailing attempts against the Royals. And if she ever so much as sets a foot on British ground again, it will be her last move.

But since Sherlock had obviously been in love with him for a long time, she had probably just confused him in her aggressive sexuality. She had known how to pull his strings, so much is sure. Sherlock had probably not seriously desired her, but he had admired her enough to go above and beyond to save her worthless life. It is enough to make Mycroft hate her with vigour. Her luck is that he is a very busy man and that Sherlock has obviously found a way to let her disappear in a very believable way. Mycroft has not heard or seen anything from her since then and it is not his habit to chase enemies that are presenting no danger anymore. But should she come back, well, then he will know and he will catch her before Sherlock does.

This all has gone through his mind within mere seconds while he has continued with taking little brother apart. His lips have moved southwards, and now he closes them around Sherlock's wide, pink knob, licking over the exposed glans, dipping the tip of his tongue into the leaking slit.

Sherlock is seriously wriggling under his ministrations, his fingers digging into his scalp rather painfully, and Mycroft knows he will come very soon if he goes on sucking him. So he lets Sherlock's long cock slide into his throat completely only once, swallowing around it because he can, making Sherlock moan his arousal to the ceiling. Then he lets go of him, ignoring his protests, and urges him to turn around and go on his knees, and he spreads these fantastic cheeks to blow over the frantically twitching hole before he licks the wrinkled flesh with skill and enthusiasm, indulging on Sherlock's musky taste, dipping inside of him, licking him out.

Sherlock is mumbling incoherent nonsense now, a lot of it includes some otherwise annoying short forms of Mycroft's name as he can obviously not struggle all the way to the end anymore. And even though Mycroft usually hates his name being manhandled, he finds it nothing but cute under these circumstances – and ‘cute’ isn’t otherwise part of his vocabulary and would probably be despised by Sherlock should he utter the word loudly.

Mycroft dies for having Sherlock suck his cock or to just push into him and fuck him until he screams (in pleasure, not pain, naturally), but this is not the time for that and he is already too far gone to prepare Sherlock accordingly now. And Sherlock will want to explore him as well, and waiting with the real anal pleasures will make going all the way even sweeter. So when he feels that Sherlock, who is fisting his own cock now relentlessly, will soon reach his crisis and collapse, he grabs his own so far untouched but nonetheless fully hard and seriously throbbing cock and places it in Sherlock's wet cleft, rubbing it against the reddened, tender skin. He presses Sherlock’s cheeks together to get more friction, and then Sherlock groans and spills all over the bed and the knowledge that he has done this to his brother as well as the stimulation of his blood-filled appendage makes him follow him, shooting his load over Sherlock's back up to his neck, and he bends down and licks it off of him, making Sherlock gasp and shiver even more than he’s already done.

Panting heftily, he lets Sherlock go, and little brother crashes into his own mess.

“God, Mycroft…,” is all he brings out.

Mycroft lies down next to him and kisses his shoulder. “Not bad, hm?”

“When can we do more?” mumbles Sherlock into the pillow, and Mycroft smiles.

No matter what happens with the ghastly woman John has married, he won’t let anything happen to his brother. If Sherlock doesn’t manage to put some distance between himself and the Watsons, and Mycroft is quite sure that he won’t, he will be watching. And if anybody proceeds to threaten the ex-killer, which would probably make good-hearted, not-so-sociopathic Sherlock want to help her, Mycroft will be faster and take out the danger before it even gets relevant. That would mean using his resources for an undeserving purpose, namely a woman who is not worth Sherlock's friendship and compassion, but in the end it’s for Sherlock, as everything he has ever done, besides his work for the crown, has been for Sherlock, and so it will be fine. And in a way he even owes her – for indirectly and unknowingly bringing him and Sherlock together.

He bends down to claim Sherlock's sweet lips in another deep kiss, and his cock stiffens against this gorgeous arse once more. There is still lots of life in this middle-aged body and he is willing to put it to good use. Of course they will have to discuss the precautions they will have to take to hide this highly forbidden relationship from everybody, especially the press and all of Sherlock's dear friends, but this is a matter for later. Nobody will miss Sherlock tonight and Mycroft is willing to take full advantage of that.

“How about _now_?” he finally answers Sherlock’s question, and he laughs when Sherlock immediately reaches down to grab his plump cock and rub it greedily, and he lets all thoughts and plans go for now and allows himself to just enjoy being with his extraordinary, one-of-a-kind baby brother.

The End


End file.
